Yet another prison, yet another illusion, yet another... Matrix.
During my, thus far, brief spell of apparent secondary incarceration, I've taken the liberty of reviewing our surrounding environment... Our native habitat, if you will. While its various denizens seem to be almost custom-made exiles, each designed to the specific parameters of
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But not without the odd nugget of truth mixed in with the illusion of amnesia, it would seem.
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This isn't real.
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